


Writing Practice and Drabbles: Alpha/Beta/Omegaverse Fiction Prompts

by Sidneystarr



Series: Nontradtional A/B/O dynamics [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Body Image, Breeding, Depression, Dissociation, Dubious Consent, Extremely Dubious Consent, F/F, F/M, Female Alpha, Female Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Intersex, Lesbian Sex, M/M, Mpreg, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Past Rape/Non-con, Polyamory, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rape/Non-con Elements, Threesome - F/F/M, Threesome - F/M/M, Underage Drinking, Whump, body image issues, i really like abusing my characters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-03
Updated: 2020-01-03
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:21:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22101727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sidneystarr/pseuds/Sidneystarr
Summary: Here's writing practice. I've decided to make a deconstruction of the typically light and fluffy Omega-verse world and really go deep into the intricacies of the A/B/O world and explore the systemic discrimination faced by Omegas and the lingering effects of a dominance hierarchy.I hope you enjoy this work. I've been trying to exercise my writing muscles so feel free to leave constructive criticism.
Relationships: Original Female Character/Original Male Character, Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Series: Nontradtional A/B/O dynamics [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1590811
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12





	1. Skin

**Author's Note:**

> This piece of work goes deeper into cecil's state of mind and how he copes after escaping from the brothel, before he meets his friends.  
> Mentions of alcohol abuse, implied abuse, PTSD flashbacks and dissociation.

Cecil found it useful to pigeonhole his days into one of three types of days. There were good days, bad days and Cecil days. 

On good days, he’d sit by the window of his tiny apartment, sipping on a mug of hot coffee, hold the sugar with a splash of extra milk and work on a newspaper article that he’d need to send in by the end of the week. Sometimes there’d be a gentle breeze and the scars on his back would stop stinging, the pain from a pelvis broken and rebroken multiple times over would stop, allowing him some form of respite. He’d spend his time staring idly at the passers-by downstairs, allowing himself to get lost in his thoughts as they busied about their daily business. He’d wondered if they’d lived like he did, or liked the same things he did. That one wore red, she’d most probably be someone who’d enjoy reading about mystery novels about fiery women and enchanting men on the beaches on Venice. The one with the children most probably was going through a bitter divorce, the Omega in blue’s husband beat her when she went home, most possibly with a belt, leaving thick, heavy welts on the side of her cheek. 

Eventually the passers-by would dwindle as dusk broke, Cecil having achieved nothing of value whatsoever. Still, he took solace in those days, the days where he’d have a clear mind and the mental fortitude to go about his days. He’d retreat into bed around half past two in the morning, curling up in a pile of pillows with a heating pack around his abdomen to soothe any lingering aches and pains. Sometimes he’d wake up in the middle of the night, drenched in sweat with his heart feeling like it’d leap straight out of his chest; other times he wouldn’t be able to sleep at all, pacing mindlessly in the confines of his cramped bedroom, a low whine threatening to escape from the back of his throat. He’d find solace in his bedroom window again, finding himself staring out the window.

The view outside the window hadn’t been a particularly riveting one; if anything it’d been quite the opposite. The window overlooked a convenience store that seemed to inexplicably be closed almost every hour of the day. He’d just spend his time staring out of the window, trying desperately to block out the pulses of anxiety rushing through his veins. 

Then there were the bad days. Cecil didn’t always recall when bad days hit, but certain things triggered them. He’d considered keeping a journal of those bad days, but he’d inexplicably forget or get so caught up in journaling that he’d forget that hours had passed since he’d cracked open the book, writing down whatever came to his mind. Eventually the book, like all of Cecil’s possessions ended up strewn around his home in what he’d liked to dub an ‘organised mess’.

He’d curl up in bed, wracked by a sea of unpleasant memories like he’d dipped his toes into the dark recesses of his mind that he’d like to seal away. He’d spend his time staring blankly at re-runs of friends as he nursed a bottle of whiskey, barely leaving his bed. The alcohol helped to dampen his racing heartbeat and his frayed nerves, soothing a body primed through a lifetime of pain and aggression. Sometimes he’d find himself crying, not noticing the hot liquid stream down his eyes until he’d realised he’d left wet spots on the book he’d been trying to read. It was at times like these he’d put the book aside and curl up in a makeshift nest, trying his best to shut himself out of the world around him. He’d inevitably lose himself in his own thoughts, the harsh realities of the world could be tended to another day.

Sleep never came easy on bad days. He’d spend the whole night tossing and turning in his bed, cold sweat soaking his sheets as he emptied the contents of bottle after bottle of alcohol. Sometimes, in a drunken stupor he’d wonder why he’d even bothered. If he drank himself into a stupor, he wondered, he’d manage to muster up the courage to off himself. He’d think to himself on those days if suicide would’ve been a better option that living on in this miserable shithole. Eventually, he’d pass out from the alcohol and wake up to a pounding headache and raging nausea. As he made a mad dash to the restroom, he’d remind himself that it was better alive than dead, no matter how miserable his life could get.

On Cecil days, Cecil’d get a bit too full of himself. Today, he’d think to himself, would be a good day. A day where he’d achieve something of value. He’d finish his work early, have some time for a fancy foam latte from the Starbucks and even forget to take that naughty shot of whiskey before he went to bed to stabilise his nerves, as Cecil rationalised. 

No, the universe had the strangest habits of tricking Cecil into thinking that he deserved to be happy. It was on days like this that he’d doze off as soon as his head hit the pillow. He wouldn’t have needed any Alpha pheromones to sleep, sleeping soundly throughout the night. Sometimes he’d even have a good dream.

He’d wake up the next morning, having zombie-walked his way through his day, sometimes trekking halfway across town without even knowing. He must’ve slept with someone the past night, picking them up at a seedy bar with his devilishly good looks as they’d ask about his scars. He’d forgotten how many times he’d woken up like this, in a stranger’s bed as they slept next to him. He’d pick his clothes up off of the floor, sneaking out the stranger’s door as he began his walk of shame home. He’d walk back home, usually in the wee hours of the morning as he’d feel the pangs of shame burn in his chest.

Cecil Lionheart. Lowly Omega whore reduced to begging for strangers to sleep with you in the streets. Couldn’t even muster up the dignity to charge? Giving yourself out from free now are we? He’d bite his tongue, digging his talons into the exposed flesh of his forearms. He’d stumble back into his small apartment, tossing his clothes off of his lean body- a useless bike like him didn’t deserve clothing. He’d curl up in a ball on his bed, pillows arranged in a high fort around his body in a futile attempt to stave off the awful, hollow feeling that gnawed at the pit of his stomach. He’d drink himself silly, oftentimes polishing off an entire bottle of whiskey in a night until he vomited, the burn of alcohol stinging his throat as it came up. 

He’d clutch his head as he felt the ball of shame tighten in the pit of his bowels, threatening to consume him. He’d tear at his bedsheets, ripping the delicate fabric as he tried to block out the lying, screeching voices in his head that told him that he wasn’t enough. That he was just some filthy Omega slut or that he’d deserved nothing but a slow and painful death wasting away in the recesses of his apartment. 

Cecil didn’t measure Cecil days by their length in days, but found himself measuring them in the time taken to drag himself out of his mental state. He’d more often than not lose track of time in a drunken mess, drinking to the point of passing out in a futile attempt to block out the godawful voices that reverberated in his head. 

As eternal as they seemed, Cecil days would come to an end. He’d be left lying on the floor, sometimes in the nude or in the same sex-stained clothes he’d slept in for days or maybe only hours. Hungover, miserable and beaten down Cecil would run himself a bath and try to forget about The Events That Transpired To This. He’d stay in his bath just a little bit longer than necessary, taking his time to reorient himself and gather his bearings in a world he’d been missing from for so long. Given time, he would be able to reorient himself in present day space-time and not in a cosmically impossible amalgamation of the past, present and future where he’d spend hours relieving his worst memories.

Cecil hoped that tomorrow would be a good day.


	2. Aden’s Angels

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes you need a fucking break from all the shitty stuff. Short draft for a potential future fic with sexy and stylish mood about a deceptively unOmegaish male Omega and his encounters with two female Alpha BFFs who have a knack for finishing each other's sentences. I’m also endlessly fascinated with a less flanderised red oni and blue oni dynamic and I hope it works here!
> 
> Mood - Don't Call Me Angel by Ariana Grande
> 
> And spoiler alert, I DO love Charlie's Angels.

“Don’t you think-“

“The bar?”

“Yeah, it’s pretty damned empty today.” With a practiced movement, Boudicca hoisted herself across the well-worn countertops of the VA-11 HALL-A. Life in the projects of Nintura had been tough, much more so for the statuesque Omega hunter. Omega hunting was tough work and dealing with the Breeding Facility Betas always made her feel like a loathsome sleezebag. She’d upturned the black marble cabinets of the seedy dive bar, searching for any traces of an Omega’s scent. They’d been chasing down an escaped Omega, a petite blond with a shock of curls and thin, spindly limbs. Pressing the sample scent to her nose Boudicca inhaled deeply. She’d needed to locate traces of mint and lemons, but looking for his scent would not be easy, her nose assaulted by the stench of rutting Alphas, beer, stale cigarettes, piss and vomit.

“Any luck?” Valentin’s soft voice piped up from behind a record table. The young Alpha’d torn the bar apart, flinging aside tables and chairs as she searched for the Omega.

“You know that noise will just make him bolt right?” Boudicca quipped dryly.

“Then we can just tackle him, or command him or something.” Valentin replied, overturning a large dining table.

“If we damage him?” 

“We won’t. Come on now,” Valentin paused, turning to face the taller Alpha. “What do you take me for?” She shrugged, brushing strands of her bleach blonde bob out of her face.

“A horrendously incompetent brute.” Boudicca said, the hints of a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. 

Valentin snorted, continuing to overturn and empty any furniture she could find, leaving a pint-sized wake of destruction in her path.

Boudicca sniffed at the countertops; past the reek of typical dive bar seediness she could pick up the characteristic scent of an Omega. This one had been different, recently scenting the countertop and not nearly as sweet as the escaped Omega. This one had been bold, the heady scent of clove marking the countertop, almost as if the Omega had wanted to mark this place as his territory. If she hadn’t known better Boudicca would’ve mistaken this scent for that of a Beta or a low-ranking Alpha. Near the scent, she’d noticed three hastily scratched claw marks in the marble countertop, as if the Omega was daring, even challenging any Alphas around. 

“Valentin.” Boudicca felt her voice take on a characteristic growl, that of an elder Alpha as she gestured for the small Alpha to come over. 

“I think we might’ve found a plus one.”

Boudicca followed the scent trail, nose pressed firmly against the scrap of paper she’d used to wipe the Omega’s scent from the countertop. She walked briskly, the resounding clicks of her heeled boots pounding on the pavement as Valentin struggled to keep up with her. She’d ran out the bar, quickening her pace to a jog as she turned into the cramped alleyways of the Fog District, shoving rather rudely past working Omegas in their sheer velvety dresses and sky-high heels and their irritated pimps. She’d ran all the way out to the docks, aimlessly fixated on the scent of the Omega, ignoring Valentin’s attempts to get her attention. 

They’d stood outside a large warehouse; the warehouse had been abandoned a few years ago, the glass on its windows had long been broken and anything of value looted by burglars. Boudicca sniffed around the warehouse, pressing her nose into the decaying wooden planks of the front door as Valentin caught her breath in a corner. The scent, although still faint seemed to be emanating from the warehouse. She tested the lock, it’d been snapped off by overambitious burglars years ago but the door seemed to have been barricaded with a rudimentary deadbolt, furniture piled up against the doors. She pushed against the door, testing the integrity of the deadbolt. It hardly budged, the deadbolt had most likely only been installed recently.

“Valentin,” Boudicca said, motioning for her apprentice to come over. “I’m gonna need your brutality here.” The young Alpha skulked over, clearly still exhausted from chasing after the tall woman.

“Yeah, whatever babe.” She replied, backing up a few steps before ramming her left shoulder into the door. The door’s hinges creaked unsteadily, the wood beginning to crack and crumble under the scrappy Alpha’s tackles. She rammed the door again, this time the wood beginning to splinter. Wrapping her shoulder in her blue jacket, Valentin Slammed into the door one last time, the splintering wood giving way under her. The young Alpha, unsteady from her charge, was sent flying directly on to a pile of broken shelving and cupboards. She yelped as she fell face first into the mess of wooden planks.

“Oh would you look at that?” Boudicca mused, “Turns out we could’ve just kicked in the door.”

Ignoring her young apprentice’s comments of 'knothead' and 'dipshit', Boudicca stepped over the mess of wooden shelving, clearly designed to keep any prying citizens from intruding. The entire warehouse floor had been set up like a nest, with rotting bedsheets draped over a closet, warehouse packing peanuts had been set up in a corner as an improvised bed and the floor reeked of synthetic Alpha pheromones. Boudicca coughed, the musky, heady scent of leather overwhelming her sensitive nose. Whoever this Omega was, they were determined to keep intruders out. A more familiar undertone, the scent of clove lingered on the bedsheets. As hard as they tried, the Omega hadn’t been able to entirely hide the scent of their sex.

Boudicca pressed her nose to the rotting bedsheets, the scent of clove still fresh on the sheets. The Omega clearly had been around recently, the scent still fresh on their bedding. She riffled through the bedsheets, searching for anything personally identifying. A few discarded bottle caps, some half smoked joints, a badly crumpled receipt for a home improvement store and a small polaroid photo of a long-haired man in a black coat. Hazarding a guess, Boudicca placed the Omega as a male, young and well-built compared to the typically lean builds of Omegas. Clearly this Omega hadn’t been through breeding training, judging by the wild and defiant look in his eyes and modern dress. He must’ve been a wild one, one of the untamed Omegas who’d lived rough in the inner city of Nintura. He’d most probably fetch a high price among the rich Alphas of the Illythis, the sick fucks took pleasure in thoroughly breaking in a stubborn Omega. From the look of his bedding, he hadn’t been gone long, perhaps made a small trip out to a convenience store to grab something to eat. 

“He went out.” 

“Well no shit Sherlock. What do we do now huh?” Valentin replied, stretching every inch of her small frame out as she plopped herself down on the floor, reminding Boudicca of a petulant child.

On Boudicca’s insistence, they’d stationed themselves on top of a catwalk, hidden behind a large pipe. They’d meticulously scrubbed themselves of any trace of scent they had left on them, rubbing their skin raw with a washcloth to remove any traces of their existence. There they’d stood, motionless for hours, silence punctuated only by Valentin’s whining about her sore feet. Still, there’d been no sight of the rogue Omega. The ever patient Alpha found herself growing annoyed, her charge’s whining wearing her patience thin. Perhaps the Omega had caught a whiff of them and had bolted, perhaps he’d abandoned this place recently and they’d been set up by the cheeky bastard. She was beginning to feel like searching for him was a futile effort; they’d still have another Omega to search for that had escaped and this one wasn’t going to show himself anytime soon. She’d begun to descend the ladder that lead up to the catwalk when Valentin suddenly squeaked, causing the elder female to jump slightly.

Boudicca’s head snapped to her young charge, a low growl in the back of her throat. Valentin shook her head, gesturing frantically at what was left of the warehouse door. There’d been a shadow, flitting slightly in the streetlights, stopping briefly at the warehouse’s door before quickly disappearing. 

Boudicca’s senses sprang into action. Leaping off of the catwalk, she felt herself land gracefully on the warehouse floor. Breaking into a sprint with powerful loping steps she chased after the shadow. She could feel a growl starting in the back of her throat, a basic call to the Omega to stop. She saw the Omega flinch slightly and stumble, the black coated figure’s pace faltering slightly under her command. He was a powerful Omega though, lightly muscled yet tall and strong, taller than Boudicca in heels. He rounded off into a corner, flinging a cardboard box he’d picked up at her, the box just missing the Alpha’s face. Boudicca forced herself to run after him, her thighs burning as her muscles screamed. He’d clearly been accustomed to a lifetime of running and, as Boudicca observed a small scar across his neck, fighting.  
He’d pushed her out into the red light district of Daze, into the bar district where Omegas lazed outside various brothels. Boudicca could feel her breath catch in her throat, just how far could this Omega run? She felt her heel give way under her, the stiletto heel wobbling under the potholed road. Letting out a primal roar, she used the last of her energy to slam into the Omega, sending them flying into an alleyway. They landed in an opened dumpster, Boudicca’s body pinning the Omega down hard under her.

He hissed, lashing out at her with artificially sharpened claws. A claw caught her across the face, hard enough to draw blood but not nearly hard enough to leave a groove. She responded in kind, biting down against his arm, feeling her sharpened teeth piece the thick leather of his coat. He’d brought up his arm to shield his face, letting out an enraged, almost Alpha-like growl before slamming his head against hers. His sharpened, gazelle-like horns hit her straight in her forehead, causing her to reel backwards. She felt her hold on his arm loosen and she fell backwards on her ass onto the pile of trash.

“You Alphas sure seem to have a mystical connection to trash today.” The Omega spat, rubbing his head in pain. The Omega that she’d tried to capture looked down on her, projecting dominance in a very un-Omegaish way. He was a handsome young man with ash-white skin and a head of thick dark hair, with almond-shaped green eyes that seemed to perpetually reflect a smug sense of self-satisfaction.

Reaching into his coat pocket, he pulled out a handgun, the chrome-painted barrel glimmering in the moonlight.

“You have five minutes to tell me exactly what the fuck went down back there and what the fuck you were doing in my house.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ooo, I've always loved playing around with the ABO dynamics. Also cyberpunk worlds (where this series takes place in) is super bueno for me.
> 
> In case if yall might not have caught on, this series takes place in the same universe as the first work. Not saying anything, but Aden migggggghtttt have something to do with the plot of the main story.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope I portrayed Cecil's PTSD well, someone close to me suffers from PTSD and I did consult them extensively before posting this series.


End file.
